


Cherchez les hommes

by Mozart (BlondeMelancholic)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Birthday Sex, How Do I Tag, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Minor jealousy kink, Multi, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Threesome - F/M/M, as much ooc as it takes for a threesome okay, implied threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondeMelancholic/pseuds/Mozart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn deserved only the most tender of presents for his probable-birthday, and Poe Dameron and his girlfriend are willing to give it to him. Emphasis on "giving it to him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherchez les hommes

**Author's Note:**

> This was one part of a three-part fic trade gift for Miss Chocobo on Lunaescence and since it was my personal fav (am i allowed to have those) i felt like throwing this one up
> 
> also, again, i'm too lazy atm to import series with a lot of chapters,,

When your lover’s eyes meet yours from across a long hallway, he’s pleased to see the warm light of affection within. You’re in a good mood despite your unenviable position behind a cart of dirty laundry, and it lifts his spirit for a moment. A moment, right before your eyes move over to see who he’s standing with, and the way he’s standing with his arm wrapped around another, and as your eyes meet his for a second time he knows he’s in trouble.

Ah, well. These things are nice while they last.

But certainly, you’ll understand as long as he gives an explanation, like this one: him seeing Finn two minutes prior, and of course immediately going over to give him a good-natured greeting. Upon seeing that something was bothering him, he’d asked what the matter was.

“You know,” Finn had said, furrowing his brow in contemplation, “I’m not… I mean, I’m like eight percent sure here, but I _think_ tomorrow might be my birthday.”

“Are you kidding, buddy?” Dameron had given him a hearty slap on the back. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Not that we, uh, _celebrated_ that sort of thing back with the Order. But…”

“Well, it’s a big deal around here. Let’s get something together for you.”

Finn had laughed a little anxiously, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not sure how well that’ll go over.”

“Ah, whaddya mean? Everyone here likes you, buddy.”

“I wouldn’t say _everyone…_ I mean, it’s not easy for some people. Forgetting I was a Stormtrooper.”

The look of guilt in Finn’s eyes had been too much to handle and Dameron had instinctively wrapped an arm around him, using the other to give him an affectionate pat on the chest. “I said it before – you’re a good man, Finn. Anyone can see it, and they will. Count on it.”

And that was when they’d rounded the corner, and Dameron had locked eyes with his lover, and – well. He knows how it looks, and he knows that this has happened before. Him, all touchy-feely with someone else. It can always be explained away no matter how icy the look you give him, and you always say that you understand. And once in a while, he gets a night to remember out of it, and with a thrill of excitement, he hopes that tonight is one of those nights.

“Thanks, Poe. I…” But Finn senses the sudden tremor of panic and follows Dameron’s gaze to you. To that predatory glare. 

He knows you; he recalls the night when he’d accidentally been assigned to your room, the night after the big victory. When you returned and gently patted the mattress where he’d crashed, you had turned to him and informed in a dangerous monotone that he had upset your comfortable depression, and he had made sure to never cross paths with you again.

“Uh-huh,” he says, quickly trying to rearrange the conversation to something less pathetic than a forgotten birthday. “I know her. She, uh, your girlfriend? Cute girlfriend? Cute girlfriend, man.”

Finn is not certain where the praise comes from, and hopes that he’s not so pathetic that a lifetime of being with the First Order made him a masochist turned on by dangerous glares. Certainly not. Right? As your gaze moves slowly up and down his body, he feels like he’s being sliced open neck to groin, and yet a certain nervous excitement briefly courses through him. As if he was telling the truth about you being cute, _more_ than cute, and as if he _likes_ the way you’re looking at him.

Ah, fuck. Normalcy’s out the window, then.

His words surprise Dameron, and a strange hybrid of pride and jealousy cuts through your lover. Detaching himself from Finn with a laugh, he pats his friend on the back. “I’ll see you later, buddy. I’ll think of something nice for you tomorrow.”

\---

You watch as Dameron crosses over to you, and though you’re certain he sensed your brief jealousy, you also know that he’s most likely planning some way to use it to his advantage. After all, he’s the best cure for whatever ill feelings you may have, or pretend to have: a single touch brings your eyes to his, his mouth between your legs ends whatever silent treatment you may be playing at, and when he pushes inside of you, you’re willing to forgive him for anything, _anything._

You redden at the thought of the last time he’d pulled such tricks, and you pretend to look blasé when Dameron comes to a halt beside you. With a dry monotone, you greet him with a noncommittal “Hello, commander.”

“Hello to you too, kid.” He chucks your chin gently, rubbing a thumb against your soft cheek. With a grin he says, “I hope you’re not calling me that as punishment. It kind of turns me on, honestly.”

“I…” He’s looking at your mouth and your throat goes dry. In a low and hoarse voice, you warn, “Everybody’s going to see…”

He wants them to: to see, to remember, to have a reminder that he’s yours and you’re his, apart from the obscene noises that come from behind your closed doors every other night. But to appease you he pulls away a little and entertains himself with massaging the nape of your neck. “You’re the boss, kid.”

Surprised at your victory, you smile, so pleased you’re nearly embarrassed. “Ah, well, I don’t – ”

Your guard down, he presses his mouth to yours and cuts you off with a kiss. When he straightens, smug with pride over the success of the stolen kiss, you’re speechless and completely out of retorts. And the soft and pliable look in your eyes overrides any potential indignation, so he considers himself well in the clear for any transgression he may have made.

“That’s much better,” he notes. “You about scared Finn half to death.”

“Well, that? I…” In truth, Finn hadn’t been the cause of your brief ire. Too proud to admit your embarrassment, you say, “I didn’t mean to. He just – reminded me of something I saw earlier. You and Seris, all close and chummy. She your girlfriend?”

Whatever pretend-bite you intend for your words is impossible when he’s so close, his familiar masculine scent making you reel. You sound like you’re teasing, which in truth you are, but you’d like to be able to banter more without him getting you so off-kilter on the job. Once more you give Dameron the upper hand and he leans down again to brush his mouth against the shell of your ear. 

“Nothing on you,” he tells you, his voice so low that a little involuntary shiver runs down your spine. “Never. I’m sure you can take my word for it, but I can think of a couple of ways I can prove it to you, if you’re interested. How about I swing by your room after dinner?”

“Ah, _Poe._ ” You look around anxiously, wondering if everyone’s listening in – surely everyone can hear it, your heart thudding in your chest – but they pass by without a glance. When you turn back to him, you realize you can’t look any higher than his mouth; humiliated, you push your cart a little farther forward. “You know – it’s the man who’s supposed to be wrapped around the woman’s finger, not the other way around.”

“Oh, I definitely am,” he tells you, moving with you. “I guess it’s more of an acrobatic maneuver. Which reminds me…” He bites his lip as he curls your hair behind your ear. “…Tonight?”

You would much rather pull him into some janitorial closet and fuck him right then. But to resemble something approaching sanity, you shy away and cry, “Ah, I was serious!”

“And so was I.” He touches your shoulder, and you’re pleasantly trapped in his dark eyes. “I’d do anything for you, kid; you know that.”

The soft glow of tenderness warms your heart and serenely you say, “I’d do anything to you, too.” After a moment you frown, realizing your mistake. “I mean. _For_ you. Yes. _For_ you…”

But he’s already noticed, and the smile has fallen off of his face, replaced with a familiar look of poorly-disguised lust. “You know what? I’m thinking that maybe _before_ dinner would be a better time.”

“Before dinner,” you agree, feeling relieved that, albeit on accident, you managed to win at least one time.

\---

Dameron departs after he’s gotten another kiss, and you continue along with your laundry cart, knowing that the hours are going to drag on until the encounter. You decide to pass the time by going through your mental catalogue of all the scandalous positions you’ve experienced with him. When you reach the memory of him debauched on the floor of his X-Wing, you realize that you’re being watched.

Curious, you look around until your eyes meet your observer’s. It’s Finn; he’s standing a little ways off, looking at you a bit nervously. You feel guilty for the cutting look you’d accidentally given him earlier, and you smile, preparing to go on your way when he seems to make up his mind to go talk to you.

“Hey,” he says quickly, only occasionally meeting your eye. “I see you’re, uh, doing the laundry here.”

You stop behind your gigantic cart of laundry and look at it pointedly. “Yes, it would seem that way.”

“Yeah, cool, cool. Just wanted to, uh, congratulate you. I mean, you know, thank you.”

“Thank me?” For what? Your mind was still on Poe Dameron Kama Sutra and wonder if he’s congratulating you on bagging one of the most popular men around. You would be more than happy to accept that.

“Your…” He clears his throat, gesturing to the laundry. “You do such… great work, you know.”

You’re certain that question marks are popping up above your head. “With the laundry?”

“Yeah!” Finn seems relieved that you’ve cracked the code so easily. “I mean, I look _forward_ to you doing it, you know? The towels are always so soft after you’re done with them. Just – incredible quality. Like I’m washing my face with a… cloud.”

You look at him unblinkingly, wondering where this could be coming from. Was he trying to make up for the fact that he’d upset your comfortable mattress groove? That had been only half-serious. But it’s rare to be complimented and a streak of fondness runs through you. “Well, thanks, Finn. I’m just doing my best.”

He relaxes at your smile and backs away, aiming an affectionate little jab at your shoulder only when there was so much distance between you that there was zero chance he’d actually hit you. “Hey, just… Keep up the good work! Yeah!”

You watch him leave, wondering why he was being so nice. Unaware that he is almost liquid with relief, feeling as though he has successfully diverted some dangerous animal’s attention away from him.

But he also thinks about Dameron’s affectionate pat on his chest. And he thinks about your smile, too, quite often. He isn’t sure why the two memories always come in conjunction.

\---

It has been fifteen minutes since the encounter and Dameron’s thighs are still trembling. The rest of him is boneless with the warm afterglow of pure pleasure, his back against your mattress and his chest finally rising and falling steadily. It took him a while afterwards to recalibrate himself and remember which way was up but now he is calm, relaxed.

He’s the pilot, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take him to a moon or two every now and again.

You’re on your back, too, your thighs wrapped snugly around one of his. He looks over at you as you press kisses against his wrist; he can’t get out of his head the memory of your body coiling and uncoiling on top of him, arching and rutting and shaking as you say his name. Like a man, he impulsively wants to consider it the best sex he’s ever had, but that honor would still go to the time he slept with you after you had come back from a dangerous mission. In truth it hadn’t been dangerous at all, nothing compared to what he’s used to – you’d merely been taken along so that you could interpret some obscure dialect, and though you’d been shot at only a couple of times, there had been no real threat to your life. And yet he’d been worried so sick about you that he hadn’t calmed down until you returned. _God, I love you,_ he’d said to you as he’d fitted himself between your thighs. _Love me back, okay?_ And after that, you’d –

“What are you thinking about?” you ask, adjusting yourself to turn over and watch him. Your thoughts are much simpler: you quite like the look of his dark hair against your clean, white pillows.

“You,” he admits. He wants to turn to you, but he’s out of the energy to do so; there must be wildfire in you tonight. “I should take you for a ride soon.”

“Hmm. You already did.”

That gives Dameron the energy to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer against him. With your head in the crook of his shoulder, he says, “Could you help me out a little?”

“Anything you want. What do you need?”

“Ideas. There’s a birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” You look up at him, curious. “Whose? I haven’t heard anything.”

“Finn’s. Can you believe it? He tells me he’s never celebrated one, either. I just can’t think of what to get him. A lot of pressure now.”

“Well, let’s think of something nice. He deserves it; he was sweet to me today.”

“Mhm. What do you think? Dessert? I already gave him a jacket. Maybe a new pair of boots?”

You have an idea, and you tell him. As soon as it’s out of your mouth you realize how bad it could sound to a lover and you start to explain yourself, excusing yourself, but quickly you understand that there’s no need. When you sling an appeasing thigh over his waist you feel him hard against you and you sit up in surprise.

A lazy grin has spread across Dameron’s face. “You think he’ll go for it?”

“I’m not sure. But it’s worth a shot.”

“Hmm. Let’s do it.”

That has two meanings, and you shoot him a warning look even as you clamber back up onto his lap. “Today I have to do the dishes, you know, and it’s hard when that dishwashing droid hates me.”

“Mhmm.”

“We can’t be late and miss dinner, I mean. I might get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ll let them know that the best pilot of the Resistance needed you very, very badly.”

\---

Finn is not sure what he’s supposed to be expecting as he stands in front of your door the next evening. All he knows is what you’d said to him earlier in the morning, those startlingly attractive eyes pinning him to the wall as you said, _I hear it’s your birthday, Finn. And Poe and I thought very hard about a good surprise gift for you. It’ll be ready this evening if you want to drop by my room and get it._

Get it. Get what? There’s not exactly a gift shop on the Resistance base and his mind whirls, thinking about what you could have possibly gotten for him. He raises his fist a half-dozen times to knock on your door, but each time he lets it fall as he tries to imagine what could be lurking on the other side for him.

A thought pops into his head and is immediately discarded. He has to try and entertain it, though, if only for a moment. What else could you want him for, in your room, at a scandalous time of the day when other affairs are sprouting up around the base? The thought pops up again, but though he gets a bit of a cold sweat thinking about you in there, in your room and on your bed, he has to remind himself that you had mentioned Dameron, and that he was probably in there with you.

The idea appears for the third time, in a slightly different way – with someone else involved, too. Why does it sound so strangely appealing? It _is_ strangely appealing to him, and he wipes sweat off from his brow. No. Of course not. That’d just be so – unpredictable. As if that was going to happen. Huh. No way. He’s just getting crazy ideas, the kind of stuff that gets into one’s head after having all day to dream up what kind of surprise present could be waiting for him.

Finally Finn works up the courage to knock on your door. You open it a millisecond after his knuckle makes contact and you swing the door open as wide as your smile is. The warm look in your eyes makes him melt, but he has to realign himself when he sees Dameron in there with you, sitting on your bed; in front of him is a table with a little birthday cake on it. Cake. God, you’d gotten him cake. In that moment he loves you, adores you, both of you.

“Happy birthday, Finn,” the two of you say in unison. You draw him into the room and he barely notices when you lock it behind him. You say, “Come here; I got this specially made for you. A big reason to celebrate, considering how stingy Yrs is about baking.”

“Oh, yeah, _thanks,_ ” he says in earnest, moving forward gleefully to claim his gift. You and Dameron allow him to eat until he’s content – when did he get such a sweet tooth? – and when he’s sated, he looks up to find the two of you watching him from your bed.

A jolt of embarrassment crosses him, and he realizes that the act of stuffing his face is probably getting in the way of the two of you having sex and recreating your comfortable mattress depression. Hurriedly, but not without sincerity, he says, “Thanks for that, you two. I mean it; that was… It was really nice. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

You laugh. “You’re very welcome, Finn. You deserve it.”

Your laugh is an alluring sound, and he feels guilty for wanting to stick around longer, for wanting to try to hear it again. “Aha, well, thanks again. I won’t overstay my welcome, though. Gotta wake up early tomorrow morning, you know… Face the day…”

“Don’t run off,” you admonish, getting up and crossing over to him. (He can’t take his eyes off the swing of your hips as you approach and he swallows sharply; you didn’t plant an aphrodisiac in the cake, did you?) “You haven’t even had your birthday kiss. I’m guessing they don’t give those in the Order, am I right?”

“N-No, I guess n-not, I…” And then your lips are on his cheek, and when he smells your scent he instinctively turns so that his mouth meets yours. It’s all pleasure and warmth for a second before he remembers that your boyfriend is watching from a few feet away and he jerks back with shame. “S-Sorry, I…”

“Don’t be,” Dameron assures him, and then he’s at his side, too. “She’s right. It’s a tradition.”

Is he supposed to feel this good about Poe Dameron kissing him? Well – who wouldn’t? You make a selfish little noise and lean forward and kiss him again, and then you’re kissing Dameron, and then he’s not sure who is kissing whom but everyone is kissing everyone and where did his jacket go? He is sure he had it on before but more and more clothes are coming off of him, and he has no desire to find them again. And a moment ago he was sure Dameron was fully dressed, and _you’d_ been fully dressed, but neither of those things are true anymore. He is being tag-teamed by you and Dameron, a full assault on him, and as he raises the white flag of absolute surrender, something else seems to raise; it occurs to him that he’s the center of some tiny universe: whenever he turns his head there’s you, and him, and then you – and then he – and then, the both of you…

\---

There’s a spot by your room with a window that looks out into the forest, and Rey enjoys sitting there and gazing out of it when she has free time. When the sun rises, the color dapples over the leaves and creates such a stunning image that it takes her breath away, sentimental as it seems. You certainly don’t get that kind of view on Jakku.

She’s sitting there that morning when she hears a door open, and she’s surprised. Usually few are up before her, and nothing important is happening today, so she’s not sure who would be up at such an hour; except for maybe you, who now and again has to wake early for breakfast duty. She turns to see that it’s indeed your door that’s opening, but it’s not you who appears: it’s Finn. He doesn’t see her, and he adjusts his clothes with a relaxed sigh and departs.

That’s bizarre; what would Finn be doing in your room? Is he your boyfriend? She thought you already had one. But Finn had been acting strangely the previous day; perhaps it was the sort of behavior one has, when they have a woman. She turns back to the sunrise, but within minutes, your door is opening again.

She turns, expecting to see you, but it’s Dameron, who she had assumed was your boyfriend to begin with. He looks pleasantly debauched and he turns back to the doorway to say something to you. Whatever your reply is, it makes him smile, and he leaves, fixing his hair as he does so. Rey doesn’t turn back to the window just yet, and sure enough, minutes later you leave your room in your work clothes. You’re turned her way as you lock the door and you meet her questioning glance with a genial smile.

“Oh,” you say, pleasantly surprised to see her. “Good morning, Rey.”

She knows how you can be in the morning, and you are far, far too relaxed and warm and soft for your early hours of work. And suddenly her mind goes back to the clown car of your room, and she adds the troupe up quite neatly in her head.

“Ah, Rey,” you say, “why are you giving me that look?”

“…”


End file.
